Some things never leave you
by PleaseforPeace
Summary: Story proceeds as Zack returns home from Iraq. Alternative ending to Gormogon.
1. Home

**A/N: Hello! I'm working on this purely out of fandom. Disclaimer: Story belongs to the brilliant Hart Hanson. **

**I'm going in the same direction in the beginning, you may notice, but I'm going to split off for an alternative ending later. So enjoy!**

**Feed back is loved.**

**I'm unsure whether or not to rate this T. Just keep in mind the rating might change. Thank you (;  
**

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_"You may want to consider your ability to work outside the Jeffersonian."_

The words still haunted him as he stood before the enormous lab. As usual, he felt his heart skip at the thought of seeing everyone and engrossing himself in work, but an unfamiliar pang of bitterness. He could work other places if he desired. _Failure to assimilate_. They sent him home without second thought - even with his determination to participate. Their actions were a mystery to him, but what puzzled him more was his feelings. Irritation, disappointment? He could work outside the Jeffersonian. He was intelligent and _useful_. He really was.

There was some skepticism as he stepped around the security guards. He wasn't exactly dressed at best, but he didn't bother to change after the flight - where would he? Stepping through the sliding doors he had excepted everyone to be in their own section, but instead he found them gathered on the platform. Dr. Brennan spotting him first. She looked as if she had seen a ghost. "Zack," she whispered and slowly everyone turned to see him. Angela squealed, Hodgins hollered, and soon he was crowded around with happy faces.

"What are you doing here?" Angela asked excitedly after they parted. He avoided the question.

"Can I move in the place above your garage?"

"You kidding? Of course! Come here," Hodgins yanked him into a hug. Laughing about how his friend thought he'd be kicked out on the street. He missed Zack, and his handicap to boot.

"Welcome home Zack," he was surprised as Dr. Brennan hugged him. It felt odd, but also a relief to be home and see everyone doing well.

"Did you get wounded or something?" pipped up Booth who remained behind on the platform.

Zack glanced up from the people surrounding him. A pit rising up in his stomach. The doubt that haunted him earlier returning, and the warmth he had just felt growing into a gross sickness. "No. They just sent me home."

"When can you start work?" Dr. Brennan jumped in excitedly.

He glanced back up at the guy standing next to Booth. It seemed that they had already hired a replacement. However, the thought of a case made his heart skip and released the sudden, tightening pain in his throat. "Oh, if you didn't fill my job... Who's that guy?"

"Nobody," he said and turned.

He wished to ask him if that was his name, but Hodgins jumped in. "Man, you look like crap." The days had been stressful. With the "slave driver's" (as the other men would call him) eyes on him twenty-four seven there was no time to relax. He was often up at night redoing drills to perfection, and in his free time analyzing corpses to prove his ability in the field.

"Well Iraq is not a vacation," Camille chimed in for him.

"I think you look very rakish," Angela chimed in patting the jacket he had worn since day one. "You starving?"

He felt overwhelmed with questions. He shook his head. He'd rather jump into the new case. He had missed timely investigation at the Jeffersonian and not the cramped space of time he had worked in over in Iraq. He never had enough time to fully analyze the skeleton before being handed the next. Working back home was like a breath of fresh air. "Actually what I'd like is to get in whatever you were talking about, before Dr. Brennan's mental problem." They all shared a look which confused him further. Hodgins chuckling dragging him off.

He was directed to a familiar room. He felt warm with the team surrounding him. He was most definitely home. Dr. Brennan giving him a quick summary of what they had found before, and the rest standing in the doorway. They just continued to gaze at him with smiles. It reminded him of the "slave driver" glaring at him as progressed through the day. Except, this was many eyes. He couldn't help, but continue to look up. His mind running many possibilities. "It's hard to concentrate when you're all staring at me."

"They are happy to see you," Dr. Brennan explained as the rest of them retreated back to their duties.

"The depth of teeth scoring on the skull suggests that it was cooked."

"Meaning the victim was dead when his face was eaten. Which is good, I guess, given the alternative." He nodded in silent agreement. It would be rather gruesome to think the flesh was torn off and eaten, raw, while the victim was alive. However, he had learned that it would be nothing new for their line of work.

"I'm seeing an interesting pattern in the scoring," he said snatching the remote to the computer.

"From the windshield?" she asked turning toward the computer. Feeling happy that Zack was back. He was like a missing piece of a puzzle. His insight could almost instantly pick up things she had missed herself - and of course it was the same for her to him.

"It appears so, but if you kind of un-focus your eyes and allow patterns to arise from what looks like chaos…" he began magnified the picture so he could point it out, "here… here… here."

"I didn't notice that," Dr. Brennan admitted honestly. All the more thankful to the military for sending him home. She half smiled before leaning in at the new discovery.

"This scoring is different from both the gnawing marks and the damage caused by crashing through the windshield," he pointed out again. Feeling a small sense of pride at Dr. Brennan's approving nod. It was much better than his chief's scruff 'good' and then sending him off to another job. Not that Zack ever need much approval, but it did feel nice.

"What is that?" she asked as he enlarged the image further.

"I dunno," he admitted honestly.

"Did you run it through the x-ray diffractometer?"

"And also x-ray micro-fluorescence. Neither showed trace evidence of anything left on the bone by whatever etched that grooved."

"That's our answer then," she said excitedly before racing out.

She was on to something. The doctor had a tendency to run off without explaining clearly. Which was something that Zack didn't miss. He became frustrated by it. "But the answer was 'nothing'," he said confused, but she was long gone.

---

The lab was quiet, but even so he didn't feel lonely or disturbed by the fact. Instead he felt more relaxed and at home then he had for months. There was no one to disturb or evaluate his work. The Jeffersonian was truly the perfect place for him. However, he couldn't stay forever, could he? Closing his eyes Zack sat silently.

The smell of sweat and partially decomposed bodies filling his nostrils. Their flesh burned from an explosion or sun baked. His gag reflex shaking and twisting, but luckily there is no food to expel. Someone ran off, to vomit. It's scent making it all the worse. He had seen many things since his arrival, and lost his appetite from day one. He never was a big eater, but also didn't regurgitate almost every time he ate. The cause of death varied. Some where shot, some were victims to an unexpected explosion, and some were buried alive. The worst part was when there were no signs of struggle, and the person accepted death.

He was handed a gun on the tenth day. They expected him to shoot at a target. He missed... Several times. He got better, but each time he pulled the trigger the pure force surprised him. He was sure to take someone's life sooner or later, and perhaps if he couldn't then he would be taken. He found himself waking up in the middle of night in cold sweat. So hours to sleep decreased, and instead he spent it on the not so lucky soldiers. His chief noticing the significant changes in his behavior. He was drained from not sleeping or eating.

He opened his eyes. Turning back to present time. The case wasn't finished yet. "Have you been to bed yet?" a familiar voiced asked. It was Cam.

"Iraq is from a different time zone. I can't seem to sleep right now," he half lied. It was true that the times were different, and he was much more awake now - but he doubted he'd sleep later. Turning the the examination table he pointed at the bones. Explaining the situation she shook her head. Their could be a lot of victims involved. It made the two cringe.

"But we caught him," he added after a few moments of quiet terror.

"Yes, WE did, Zack," Camille said stressing the 'we'. She looked proud of him. Realizing from his absences what a big contribution he was to the team.

Zack shrugged, "Dr. Brennan always says that catching the bad guys is only part of it. The rest is knowing absolutely everything about the evidence."

"Why did they send you back from Iraq?" she asked. He certainly was smart, and one of the best in his field.

"I failed to assimilate," he admitted finally. He wished to avoid the question, but didn't trust himself to lie. "Despite my accomplishments, I was detrimental to a military team approach." The squeezing feeling returned. He was getting used to it by now. It felt almost like shame.

Camille, sensing this pain, chimed in, "you're very good for our team approach." It was no lie either. They all needed each other, and it wasn't until he left that she realized how true it was.

"The army psychiatrist told me that I should question why the Jeffersonian is the only place that I can fit in."

"All due respect to the army psychiatrist, but that's a helluva lot more than what some other people get," she said with a smile. Clapping him on the shoulder she continued, "Go home, Zac-a-roni, get some rest."

He considered this. It was a pep-talk as he had heard many times, but it didn't change the facts. He was still destined to work there. Was it really such a bad thing? He didn't go to bed. Turning back to the bones he squinted at the scorning. Finding something more horrifying. Racing to the microscope he magnified. His tried, sore eyes didn't deceive him. Snatching the phone and dialing Dr. Brennan's number. He got voice mail. "Dr. Brennan, I have to show you something. It's urgent." Before he could explain he was clicked off by the timer. He set the phone down, and lied down the examination table by the bones. His heavy eyes drooped and the cold metal against his bare neck. The lab, the case, even Iraq disappearing. Leaving him in a peaceful dark - for once in what seemed eternity.

"Zack, Zack," he heard Booth calling his name.

Not wanting to wake up he squinted at Booth who was now leaned over him. "Oy, why are you listening to my chest?"


	2. Brother

**A/N: I have so much muse lately. I might update again later today on this or my other story. I suppose I'll "run" with my inspiration while I have it. Anyway, please enjoy chapter 2. Feed back is loved.**

**Disclaimer; DO NOT OWN. Belongs to the brilliant Hart Hanson. **

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Booth sighed, half in relief and the other in annoyance, "because I thought you were dead."

"Why?" he asked confused. Was it really so odd for him to rest? It reminded him of Iraq. His chief poking his head in his room every few hours, just to make sure he was still breathing. Of course, he reminded the chief it wasn't necessary since he didn't sleep all that often anyway. However, he was a "newbie" to war, so his opinion didn't have much credit on the matter.

"Why?" the agent growled, "You are lying on a stainless steel table for dead people!"

"I got tired," he returned looking oddly at the Booth - his expression mirroring Zack's. He didn't see what was so bad about lying down. The table wasn't the most comfortable place, but it was the closest. It convenient, convenient was good - something he learned from his time in Iraq.

"New rules, okay?" Booth said pointing at Zack, "sleeping is for couches and beds, stuff like that." The young boy shrugged in agreement. Booth still embarrassed from his reasoning. Zack was strange, and sleeping on a table without second thought was another part of his abnormalities. He stopped himself. Thinking stuff over, such as this, made him feel like a psychologist. Picking himself over, and he had enough of that with Gordon and his prying questions.

Meanwhile, Temperance glanced over the computer screen. "Oh. My. God," she said, wide-eyed at the screen.

Booth, pulled out of self hate, turned back to his partner, "What?"

"I thought you'd want to know," Zack said from the table. He, having the same reaction, knew she had already discovered what took him much longer to find. However, it was up on the big screen, so it didn't hurt his pride so much.

"What?" Booth asked again.

Bones ignored him, "You compared depth, apogee, and dimension?" she questioned turning to Zack.

"Yes. Three times," he added lastly, knowing that she'd perhaps question his calculations even though he had never proven to be wrong so far.

"And there's no way it that it was a case of pre- and post- diamond inset?"

"What? What? What?" Booth questioned starting to get irritated by their lack of appreciation of his existence. When ever he was surrounded by the squints they found a new way to make him feel, well, stupid. He slowly, after almost a year of working there, began to pick up the terminology they used. Despite this, he still couldn't decipher the significance. The two squints exchanged sarcastic remarks before admitting to the existence of yet another cannibal. "Another person. Not Jason," he said with a slight nod. Great, if one wasn't bad enough there was another lunatic cooking and eating humans.

Temperance agreed, "There's someone else out there; probably someone older who pulled Jason into this." She turned her attention to Zack, "great work, Zack." She was truly impressed by the young doctor's abilities. He saw what she had failed to notice the first time around. Intellectual, and objective was his nature. "See why he should've never have left?" she whispered to Booth, who simply shook his head.

---

"Mr. Addy," called a small voice.

The man shook him shook heavily, but the young anthropologist didn't stir. Not until the soldier carefully leaned in to check his heart rate. "Dr. Addy," he corrected with a sore throat. Another nasty bit about the desert was waking up in one. Picking up a canteen beside him he drained it. He didn't get much sleep, and when he did it always seemed he had to be awake.

Sighing the man sat back on heels, "thought you were dead, Dr. Addy. It's time for morning drills, and since you weren't up chief told me to get you."

"I'm awake. I'm not dead. I'll be out in a two minutes."

"Normally, people say in a second, in this case," the young soldier laughed backing out of the tent. Shaking his head. When you were late it was best to run back, and you'd most certainly pay.

"That's irrational. No one could get dressed and even run out of this tent in less than a second." Confused, he yanked on a jacket, and buckled his belt. His hands touching his fine hair. The day he got there they had shaved it off. It was handy, but he wasn't quite used to it. Backing out of the tent he glanced to see the soldier jogging back toward the grounds. Chasing after him, with a loose boot.

"Mr. Addy!" called the "slave driver" his face scrunched up, but Zack assumed it was the radiation from the sun. Also, letting it pass that he had forgotten the 'doctor' part. "Late! Run ten laps around camp. Now."

The fourth laps seemed longer than the first three. The hot sun beating on his back. Suddenly he felt the effect of not eating for several days. His limbs groaned, and his heart beating frantically. Was he really just running on adrenaline? Sickness. Despite it all, his feet decided not to quit moving. They kicked up sand with each step, and sand he inhaled drying up his throat.

He made it. Panting and shaky from exhaustion. The chief standing not to far away - observing. "Now, do the regular drills and you can eat."

---

"Zack, Zack!" Hodgins began to shout. The young man's head resting on the computer desk and the rest of his body hunched over. "Man, wake up, will you! You could at least come home first!" he snorted in disapproval. It seemed that his time in the military only worsened his sleeping habits.

"Hodgins?" Zack asked, blinking away the hot sun and the physical exhaustion he felt. "What are you doing here?" he could clearly see his irritated colleague.

"Cam called me to see if you came home. Which you didn't. Zack, can't you wait to sleep until you get home? Never mind. I'm taking you back, come on," grabbing the young doctor's hand he pulled him out of the chair.

"Wait," he stopped as Hodgins pulled him for the exit, "I need my stuff." However, he waved his hand. Telling him that he already got his small duffel bag. Zack, didn't really know what to think. First, Dr. Saroyan had called Hodgins to make sure he had went to sleep? Second, he was being dragged outside and pushed into Hodgins's small vehicle like a rag doll.

The ride was quiet, and when they pulled up Jack didn't get out of the car. He turned to face his friend who was trying to open the locked door. "Zack, listen," he waited for the kid to turn from the door with a confused expression, "look, I know Iraq isn't fun. I wished you never had gone, but if you need anything - or someone to talk to, I'm here for you man."

This deepened Zack's look of confusion, "I know your concerned as my colleague, but I assure you I'm fine - fit to do my duties."

Jack looked dumbfounded by this, and then suddenly angry. "I'm not concerned as your colleague, Zack! Dude, you're my best friend." He shrugged off his seat belt, unlocked the door, and hopped out. Leaning in to grab Zack's duffel bag for him.

Zack quietly followed him upstairs to the room he had left what seemed long ago. Still brooding over the words Hodgin had just spoke. Best friend? He did have a more personal relationship with him than, say, Booth. Jack set his stuff on the bed before heading for the exit. "Hodgins, you're like my brother."

A smile, "I know, man, I know."


	3. Changes

**A/N: Changed this third chapter. Hopefully, the fourth chapter will be out soon. It's starting to get more heated now, please anticipate it.**

**Review please! I love any sort of feedback (:**

He couldn't sleep. His attention cast to the wide ceiling, looking with expectancy, waiting for it to capsize into a small point. The cool pillow at the nape of his neck was a hot, rough pile of clothes which kept his face off the sand swept floor. His knees itched, probably because of dry skin. A bed, a broad room to rest in, and his own shower, nothing about these simple luxuries was comforting. It didn't protect him from past experiences, nor the fear of dreaming things again.

He had begun to note the small changes in his appearance, from day to day, and expected everyone else did as well. His hair was growing out again, but the dark lines under his eyes grew worse. Luckily he didn't lose too much more weight, but he didn't gain any either. In habit he avoided eating breakfast - in Iraq the most unpleasant things would show up after breakfast. Despite his struggle, no one said a word. He occasionally felt that the topic of his health was a subject Hodgins or Camille desired to bring up, but they seemed to understand well enough he didn't. Work was fine. Dr. Brennan and Booth ran around a lot, and he could tell they had gotten a little closer. Also, with Hodgins and Angela wrapped up in each other - even during work hours - he and Cam tended to see each other more often. She sometimes would simply observe his working process, as if to see her investment in him was correct. He didn't mind her company, but sometimes preferred to be alone as he felt her constant eye on him. It was hard to avoid their remarks of worry.

However, at the moment the lab was closed. Hodgins had dragged him home for the third time. He didn't resent Hodgins for it, but would much rather be doing something productive with his time. So, later that week he found himself attending late night debates. Those debates ranged from the latest engineering feats to forensics. It wasn't long until he was accepted into the group of regulars. Their counters of his straight forward intelligence mostly relied on the human nature, which they found wasn't his strong point.

Hodgins found out. It wasn't that he was being overly secretive about it, but he wasn't exactly telling everyone about it either. He had accepted the fact that it was only a matter of time before someone found out of his activities, but he hadn't expected such a reaction. Hodgins was angry? He felt the safety of going out, late into the night, was less to zero. The fact that any of the members could be singling him out to join a secret organization, but Zack suspected this was just part of his conspiracy theory. Hodgins then, painfully, brought up the matter of his friend's health. Questioning whether or not he slept or ate enough.

Zack didn't stop going, so Hodgins sent Angela. "Zack?" she asked, looming at the entrance of his "office".

He didn't glance up, but already suspected that she and her boyfriend had plotted something. After all, he had heard Jack on the phone last night, saying his name and conspiracy theory countless times in a hushed tone."Yes," he answered expecting that she'd walk in with or without his permission - she always did.

"Can we talk?" she asked still set in the door frame. By this time he glanced up to see her expression. Upset?

"I suppose so. I'm quite good at multitasking, it's one of the talents I've inhabited over the years." For this he got a good eye roll. The gesture was one that he was familiar with, it was one Booth often used on him.

"It's fine. I'd rather talk later... at dinner tonight." He wished to object, he had a meeting to go to, but he'd rather not argue with Angela. Angela always won the arguments. So, he gave her a quick nod before returning to the remains before him.

Dinner wasn't anything special, but a gathering of her, Hodgins, and Zack at the diner. They once they ordered the conversation died. He wondered their reasoning for inviting him. It seemed they'd be much better if he hadn't come along. "Zack," Angela spoke finally - and pulled him out of his thoughts of the debate that must be going on right now... "I, we, want to talk to you about your... hobbies." He listened, feeling a bit feverish. "We aren't asking you to stop, but Zack, going late at night is too dangerous."

He appreciated their concern. He really did, but he didn't understand what was so dangerous about debating with a few idealists. He didn't understand why they felt the need to control him. Zack could take care of himself, he was useful, outside of the Jeffersonian. He didn't need guidance. "I appreciate your sense of view, but I don't see what is wrong with going out to a quiet debate. All the members are kind to me, and we get along well. I can have friends outside of the Jeffersonian," he spoke before he thought. Since when did this happen? Jack and Angela were just worried, but he couldn't stand the fact they didn't trust him. "I think I can deduce what is dangerous or not," Hodgins opened his mouth, ready to make some wise comment, but Zack cut him off, his voice raising slightly, "I've been to Iraq. I don't need you to tell me what is safe and what isn't. I have the ability to make such judgments."

"Zack, dude, what's your problem Angela and I are just trying to look out for you! We are your friends, and we are concerned for your welling bein-"

He stood up, feeling the same bitter taste he had left Iraq with, squeezing in his throat, he had heard enough of that. He was just under a common weight for a man his age. He was perfectly healthy, besides the lack of sleep from nightmares and the constant pain in his stomach. "Sorry, but I'm going first," he muttered seizing his jacket and awkwardly making his way from the restaurant. His body shook as he stepped out into the cool autumn's air. There was no going back now.

Angela held Jack's arm tightly as Zack got up to leave, sensing the anger in her companion, but surprisingly, it turned to sadness. He let out an exhausted sighed and turned to watch Zack's figure vanish through the window. "I don't understand what's wrong with him... Since he's come back from Iraq, he's been strange. I don't know what to do Angela."

She released his arm and entwined their fingers, "I'm worried too. He's just not... Zack. But he has had a hard time. We have to give him a break, and try to help him pull through. In whatever way we can." Baby blues turned toward her, set with worry, and it gave her heart a short tug. Their words were false hope. Something in Zack was changing, and neither one of them knew what, or if it was good. Then, they knew that it was irreversible.


End file.
